Warcraft the Scourge of Time
by Lord22
Summary: They awaken to find themselves in times past and days fallen into memory, though some may not know it. They see green fields and brewing war, where once there had been only death and the dealing of it. All beings must make their own choices, and a chance to change them is a rare gift indeed. How they use that gift is up to them. AU, Time Travel fic.
1. Awakening

**Warcraft: The Scourge of Time**

**Chapter One:**

_The Lord of the Damned returned to find himself far less. His Champion had betrayed him, and all that he had sought was in ruins. Yet he would survive, for he was-_

_Inside what appeared to be an Orcish hovel. Oh certainly it was technically a fine building by Orcish standards, but then his people were as clumsy as they were stupid. His Champion had been far more intelligent, and far more deadly. And The Lord of the Damned had forged him into a being far greater, and more terrible than any had been before him._

…_Although in retrospect he might have taken a few more precautions regarding his final plan. It was uncharacteristically naïve of him to assume that his Champion wouldn't take an opportunity to stab him in the back. He had never been much of a rational actor after all._

_Yet something was not right here. The Lord of the Damned did not have full control of his own form. He could look through his eyes, and whisper in it's mind, but he knew it would take time to begin his plan._

_Time was something he had in spades._

…...

It was a fine summer day in the Lordaeron Capital when Prince Arthas Menethil awoke from a sleep he had never taken, in a room he had not seen in years.

Indeed, so clouded were his memories of this place, that he did not recognize it initially. When at last his mind adjusted to the sensation of sleepiness, and he realized the place he was in was-

"-My bedroom?" he said in surprise. It was the very same room he had lived in for years now that he thought of it. Yet for some reason he felt as though…

He felt as though he should not need to sleep. Which was odd, considering the fact that the last thing he remembered was going to bed after a long day of education in the Lordaeron Palace. Strangely though, his memories of the previous day were blurred, and rather hard to follow.

He stood, somewhat unsteadily and looked around the surrounding room for a mirror. For whatever reason, he could not remember the layout of his own room. It was rather frustrating, and Arthas

He spotted it opposite to his bed, and approached it, and looking in.

He looked as he remembered looking the day before. He was a boy of nine, with golden hair that reached to slightly above the neck. His mind told him that it was all perfectly natural. That he was perfectly fine.

So why did he feel as though it was _all _wrong. His hair, he thought, should have been whiter and longer, his face gaunt, and older, and he imagined himself in armor, with a mighty sword.

His instincts were telling him that everything was all wrong. And he had a vague feeling that something was terribly wrong. Unfortunately, one cannot act solely based off of a vague feeling, and so he began to prepare for the day.

He had some difficulty even remembering which clothes were which, and what steps were required, as if it was a habit he had long abandoned, though he clearly remembered doing it yesterday.

A sneaking suspicion that he was forgetting something very important began to dawn on him. He caught himself absently reaching for a weapon at his side that wasn't there. Worst of all, he kept trying to see things that he knew were not visible to the human eye.

The human eye. What was it about that statement that made him feel a sense of frustration far beyond that of the sort he usually felt.

Then there was a knock on the door, and Arthas glanced back, surprised. "…Enter." he called at last, his voice sounding wrong to him as well. It was far too young.

The door opened, and a young girl of about fourteen walked through the door. She had long blonde hair, and for a moment Arthas didn't recognize her. Who was this person exactly?

Then he remembered her, rather suddenly. "…Calia?" he said, somewhat uncertainly as he looked at his sister.

"Sorry Arthas." she apologized, though he noted that her voice was somewhat unsteady "But father sent me to request your presence." Her voice seemed odd, as if it should have been older. More importantly, he noted that she seemed rather unnerved by something.

Once again, that sense of wrongness was there, only now it was far stronger. Suddenly a vision flashed before his eyes of King Terenas Menethil looking up in confusion, as a white haired man drove a blade into his neck.

It was not a pleasant thought, and he flinched at it.

"…Arthas, are you alright?" she asked hesitantly, as he stared into space.

Arthas shook his head, and looked up. "Uh… yes, very well. Inform father him that I will join him shortly. Thank you Calia."

Why was he thanking this idiot? In fact, why was he even talking to her. It wasn't as if this pathetic **human **could-

_Where the hell did that thought come from? _He thought, suddenly unsettled by the sheer ruthless pragmatism within it.

Come to think of it, he remembered Calia as a young woman, and since she was his _older_ sister that would mean.

"Actually…" he said, his voice somewhat unsteady "Did father mention why he desired my company?"

"Well, he didn't say outright, but I believe that it has something to do with those Knights from Stormwind who came to the castle." said Calia. "Anduin Lothar or some such."

For a long moment there was absolute silence. Calia took a step back at the intensity of the look. Arthas glanced at the mirror, and gazed at his reflection. There was something about his eyes that seemed… off, though he could not place it.

"I see." he said "Thank you sister. I shall go and see what father requires of me."

She blinked in surprise at his formal tone, but seemed to shrug it off. "Alright then, I was planning to go purchase some things in the market, so I will probably not be around until later."

"Really?" said Arthas "Are you certain there are no other things you need to be doing."

"Like what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like studying, learning new skills. Coming to understand the ins and outs of the nation you may one day rule." said Arthas, and this time she seemed genuinely mystified.

"…Arthas you're the crown prince." she replied "I'm never going to be Queen."

"I certainly hope not." said Arthas, before realizing that left on it's own such a comment might be considered insensitive. "As that would require me to either die, or have my name thrown into utter disgrace within both our life times. Something I would prefer to avoid."

She looked genuinely concerned now, and Arthas felt a good deal of frustration at that look. "Arthas, are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright." he replied "Why would I not be alright?"

"Well it's just… I…" she stopped as she tried to find words. "You seem very different from how you usually are, is all. Did something happen?"

Arthas inwardly wondered the same thing. "I don't know." he admitted, and Calia raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I'm just disconcerted." he reassured her, putting on a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Alright then, Arthas. Just don't keep father waiting."

She closed the door, and Arthas stared at it for a moment, before glancing over to the mirror that stood on his wall.

His face was young as it should have been. His hair golden as it always had been. He was nine, as he had been last night. But though he did not know what it was, he felt as though his entire existence had been warped. He sighed and began to prepare for the day.

…...

Sylvanas Windrunner, the Dark Lady of the forsaken awoke in unfamiliar surroundings. By this time she had gotten used to the endless moaning of broken, and defeated spirits, drawn by force from their graves by unholy magic to haunt the halls of the Lordaeron Capital.

Thus she was very surprised to find that she didn't hear it when she woke up. The bed she was lying upon was soft, and well stitched. The smell of decay did not reach her nose, and as she to find that she was in a room of High Elven make. A bookcase stood over the side was filled with volumes on strategy, as well as several books of a less serious nature. While opposite to it was a large mirror. Over he bed she saw two long, curved knives, firmly hung over her bed.

This was her old room. Where she had lived before the scourge had come. She had thought that the Windrunner residence had been burned down, or at least converted into something else entirely, though she had not been back in years.

She stood there, stock still for several moments, half disbelieving of what she saw. She was dimly aware that she was walking forward, and running her hand alongside the books.

She withdrew it suddenly. She had _felt sensation_! For years since she had been killed and brought back as what she despise she had felt nothing beyond her own hatred of _him_. She had barely remembered what it felt like. And now she was here in the middle of what she now realized was her own room.

She glanced to the side and looked in a mirror…

And fell back in utter surprise, loosing her footing, and crashing into a a nearby piece of furniture. She stood, somewhat unsteadily, and looked into the mirror once more, uncertain.

She had not been mistaken. Before her, she saw a fair skinned elven woman, with long golden hair, and clad in a light gown that clung to a curvaceous figure. She was _alive._

"How…?" she said, at an utter loss for words, before the answer appeared before her. Visions flooded her mind of the recent battle in undercity.

"No." she said to herself. This was not real. This was just a magically induced hallucination, designed to force her into false hopes so that she could be tormented further. That was it.

How dare he.

**How dare he!**

Suddenly she shrieked in anger, grabbing one of the blades from above her bed and hurling it into the mirror. The sound of shattering glass was everywhere, and she felt a slight pain as one of the mirror shards nicked her shoulder.

"You bastard!" she yelled to the one she knew was listening "How dare you taunt me with this! Do you really think that I would fall for this illusion! You've already stolen everything else from me, and I won't let you do it again!" she screamed, and tears running down her eyes for the first time in years as she grabbed the fallen blade, and began hacking at the frame of the mirror. It didn't matter that it was just an inanimate object, or that it wouldn't help her situation in the slightest. She needed to destroy something. Seeing even this small sign of her old life had brought forth memories, and _hope_, and she _hated _it. She _hated _him. For a few moments she fell into a mindless rage, slashing at everything, tapestries, furniture. Anything to make it _go away!_

"Sister! What are you doing?!" she heard an all too familiar voice cry out freezing her in place. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. She had died long before Arthas attacked Quel'thalas, she couldn't have-

She turned around barely believing it possible. What appeared to be Alleria Windrunner stood before her, holding a sword in one hand, obviously concerned about the noise above her.

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.

"Sylvanas, what is-" began Alleria.

"Stand away from me!" Sylvanas, raising her blade to point it at the phantom stepping back "I don't know how he knew about Alleria without meeting her but I know you aren't her!"

"What are you talking about." said Alleria "Who? What has gotten into you sister-"

"**MY SISTER IS DEAD!"** screamed Sylvanas, her voice one of desperation and anger. "Alleria has been dead for years! Quel'thalas has been destroyed! The Sunwell is corrupted by his dark magic, and what little that remained of my people destroyed by the second scourge invasion! YOU AREN'T REAL!" She moved forward with a lightning fast strike, and narrowly missed Alleria's cheek as the _abomination _that looked like her sister ducked to the side.

Had Sylvanas been less angry, she may have reacted with greater precision, but as it was Alleria grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, pushing her to the ground.

Sylvanas struggled against her sister, thrashing madly. "Get off me! I will not believe this… this lie!" her voice broke, even as she said it.

"Calm down Sylvanas!" Alleria said "Quel'thalas is still here! Whatever you saw, it didn't happen. The Sunwell isn't corrupted. There is no power in this world that could do what your talking about!"

For a few moment she struggled against it, but she was at too much of a disadvantage to break free.

Yet something, she realized, was different. She could feel a source of strength, entering into her. One that she could scarcely remember. It was a feeling that had once been felt by all High Elves, before the Scourge came to Quel'thalas. She had almost forgotten about it.

The magic of the Sunwell. She had forgotten what it felt like to have such magic run through her veins, though it had once been second nature to her. There was no way that such a thing could be known to _him._

The knife fell from her hand as a hope that this was something other than and illusion dawned upon her.

Sylvanas collapsed fully, the tension draining out of her, and she lay upon the floor, "I…" she began, but there were no words to say that could express what she felt. "I'm sorry…" she said, he voice breaking as she began to sob. It wasn't enough. It would never have been enough. But it was all she could think to say.

Alleria relaxed her grip and fell back, so that she was kneeling by her sisters side, as she helped her up.

"Sylvanas, what happened that-" began Alleria before she was cut off by Sylvanas embracing her in a hug. Alleria stood in place for a moment, surprised, before somewhat awkwardly returning the affection.

For years Sylvanas had felt nothing but hatred, and a need for revenge against the person who had stolen everything from her. She had despaired utterly of having any satisfaction save that of his death.

It didn't matter what had happened that had sent her home. It didn't matter how it had happened, or why.

Nothing mattered except for the fact that she was _home._

…...

**Authors note:**

Well, this idea is one I have been building for a while. Those of you who have read Arthas: Rise of the Lich King may note some references to data within it. This is because I felt that the Act I was excellent, Act II was good, with some major flaws, and it was only in Act III that the book became the Character ruining abomination of Lore that it was.

…Which now that I think of it is somewhat appropriate, seeing as Act III chronicles the Death Knight segment. Though the book still sucks, and cutting out Azjol Nerub was complete bullshit, since it was by far the most interesting part of that Campaign and foreshadowed the entire Old God storyline.

Either way, I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

Oh, and the first part of this story is in Italics because it takes place in a different time from the other two, which take place in the present.

In regards to the segment with Arthas, well… I can't really explain the nature of what is going on with him without spoiling a lot of the plot. Suffice to say that while his memories and physical form are that of a nine year old boy, there are things on a subconscious level which are very different. More on that later.

As for Sylvanas' segment, I was honestly not really sure about it. But I decided that I had to go through with her freak out in the end. Think about it, Sylvanas Windrunner's character is **defined** by her desire for vengeance upon those who have wronged her. So suddenly finding herself back where it all began will not only be incredibly disconcerting, but seem far too good to be true.

Anyway, I have the second chapter all ready, but I won't be posting it for at least a few days. I want to wait on that until I'm sure it's usable.

Until next time.

-Lord22


	2. Realization

**Warcraft: The Scourge of Time:**

**Chapter Two:**

_Manipulating people in person, with words alone was a skill which the boy had been forced to learn early in his life. He had been born frail, a child of rape, whose mother was constantly sick, and whose father had long ago suffered the headman's axe. Such a combination was not one that lent itself particularly well to survival within Orcish Society, with it's focus upon family, martial prowess, and honor._

_The first two were beyond his natural talents, and the third he had been forced to discard for the sake of survival. He'd made his way through life through spying, quick wits, and using those talents to make himself useful to others. He survived, and that was it._

_It didn't seem like his luck was going to improve either. He was cold, hungry, and currently being beaten to a pulp by Gar'thol, one of the other children of his village._

_He felt another kick go into his gut, and he winced in pain._

"_What's wrong you miserable peon!" came the mocking voice. "Get up and fight! Or are you too cowardly to try it!"_

_He coughed violently, and looked up at the far larger boy, who was considered everything a young boy should be. "Please…"_

"_Shut up!" He felt another kick to his gut, and this time blood came from his mouth. "Spirits your pathetic! You aren't even worthy of being called an Orc!"_

_It was with these words that the boy realized the boy was looking for a reaction. The sight of him coughing up blood and begging for mercy made this idiot feel powerful, and he would keep pummeling him until he either lost interest or the person he was attacking was dead. He certainly wouldn't suffer anything for such actions._

_So the boy just lay there, taking it as he did so, bruises piling up until at last Gar'thol lost interest and, with one final kick he walked off._

_The boy sat there in pain for a few moments, before pulling himself painfully to the ground, and beginning to make his way back to where his mother would be waiting for him. She had been increasingly sick lately, and the boy knew that she was probably going to die soon. He'd just been returning with bread {which Gar'thol had stolen.} when he'd been ambushed._

_He just wanted to get home, so he kept on limping despite the pain, stumbling every so often as he did so, and biting back tears. He'd learned that crying got one beaten more._

_Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he reached the house in which he lived. A small mud brick hut, he nevertheless smiled as he saw it and limped down to it, and entered._

"_Mother, I am home…" the boy said, but he received no answer. "Mother?" he said, a tone of worry in his voice as he moved over to where he saw her lying, wrapped in a brown blanket lying perfectly still. He put on hand on her shoulder, an found it warm to the touch, and he breathed in relief. He shook her gently, only for her to roll to the side, her hand falling lifelessly to the ground._

"_No…" he said, she couldn't be dead. She was still warm to the touch…_

_She had died not long ago, perhaps mere moments before he arrived. If he'd just… if Gar'thol hadn't…_

_She still would have died, but he at least would have been here with her. He wrapped his arms round her and wept bitterly, as he hadn't in years. Wept for his mother. Wept for his bruises. Wept that no one would even care, because what was a few clan less peons._

_Wept at his own weakness._

_He wept until he had no more tears, then lay there for a while, before abruptly standing._

_They would pay for this. It suddenly no longer mattered that he was frail, and weak. It didn't matter if he couldn't stand up to any of the other boys in a fight, or if he had not talent with a blade. He would find a way._

_And find a way he did. The next few weeks he moved with a renewed sense of purpose. He stole food, and observed the routines of everyone, the movements of the guards, and how each thing operated._

_It took some planning, but soon enough he was ready. Before she had died, his mother had trained him in the use of herbal medicine. He had used those skills to save her several times. Now he used them to poison the guards on the night of his revenge. They died choking to death silently from their ale, for he had chosen one that took a few minutes to take effect, but killed quickly when it did._

_With the watch dealt with, he set fire to the town._

_In ordinary circumstances such a fire would have been put out quickly, but without any warning it spread, and the boy knew that once a fire had gained momentum, and spread to different locations it became nigh impossible to put out._

_Still, they might have managed it. But the boy had kept out of sight, and put flame to other buildings, ensuring that soon enough the whole town was consumed in flames._

_By that time the boy was looking down on the village from a nearby hill, and it was only as the flames died down to leave a blackened wreck that he realized fully what he had done. With but a few sparks and some tinder, her had killed dozens if people._

_Yet he didn't really think that he should care. Why should he? The Orcish 'honor' system spoke of avenging insults and injuries. And what insult had __**not **__been thrown at him, what injury had he __**not**__ felt by the hands of these pitiful small minded fools. Certainly they might have claimed that his actions had been cowardly, but was it cowardice to know ones limits. To understand that a different approach should be dealt with._

_He shouldn't have felt anything for them. The tears within his eyes were for what __**he**__ had lost, or been denied from ever having. He'd never had a father, or friends, or comrades, or any of the other advantages which the others had had._

_He should not…_

_They deserved it. They did._

_He collapsed against the side of a tree and sat down, hoping to sleep until he died. There wasn't anything else left to do, really._

_It was some time later that he awoke, to find an old Orc, dressed in the garments of shamans standing over him. He noted that the pain of his injuries that had lingered was now utterly gone. "Who… are you?" he asked the shaman, who smiled reassuringly._

"_I am Ner'zhul, Chieftan of the Shadowmoon Clan." he said "You are safe now, little one. What is your name?"_

"_My name…" said the boy as he looked up at Ner'zhul, still somewhat dazed. "Is Gul'dan."_

…...

Arthas Menethil had gotten lost in his own house. It was truly absurd, he had lived in here his entire life, and yet at some point he had taken a wrong turn. And now he was moving through the halls, trying to figure out where the hell he was.

Even as he did walked within the stone halls of the outer castle however, he found that the world seemed different. Technically speaking nothing had changed, but everything seemed… darker. Less interesting. Yesterday the world had seemed huge and interesting. As he looked across the courtyard in which the soldiers of Lordaeron ordinarily drilled, it was as if the entire world had lost a half it's color overnight, and he _hated it._

He wanted nothing more than to find his father and concentrate on something else, _anything else_, but he had thus far only succeeded in getting himself even more lost. _In his own home!_

It was a profoundly frustrating experience, and he finally grew so sick of it that he choked down his pride and walked over to the guardhouse and knocked.

The door opened, and in the doorway was a young guard of at most twenty, with tawny brown hair and a slight mustache. "Prince Arthas?" he said in surprise, straightening immediately. "I expected you here. Do you require my assistance in something."

Arthas paused, and glanced back to the main courtyard, where several servants were within sight. "Can I come in."

"Of course my Lord." said Falric, sounding slightly surprise as he opened the door and Arthas moved in. Both of them sat down at a table and Falric looked at him in bemusement. "Is this to do with Lord Lothar?"

"You mean the Champion of Stormwind?" asked Arthas.

"Yes, he came through here about an hour ago, along with several others."

Arthas raised and eyebrow, and decoded that this subject held more interest to him. "Did he say anything about it, Captain."

"Captain, sir?" asked Falric "While I admit that I would like to have that rank I-"

"Sorry, I'm having an off day." explained Arthas pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "What was that about Lord Lothar."

"Well yes." said Falric "It was strange, he an those who followed him arrived, and requested and audience with the King on extremely short notice. They said that it was urgent, and I sent Marwynn off to inform the King. A few minutes later they were let in."

The names rung a bell within Arthas. "I see." he said, his voice deadly cold. "So Stormwind has already fallen."

Falric blinked. "What? With all due respect my Prince, that is a bit of an assumption don't you think. While Royal Champions don't usually go abroad there is-"

"It is no assumption, Falric." said Arthas, and he felt as though the word he now spoke were not from him at all. "King Llane lies dead by an assassins knife, and his city lies in ashes, burned by an enemy far more terrible than any the Alliance has faced until now. Steel yourself, Captain. A storm is coming." As soon as he had finished speaking, Arthas blinked as if falling from a trance. "I don't… what the hell was that!?"

"You tell me, Prince Arthas." added Falric, his tone surprised. "I've heard rumors of royalty occasionally getting prophetic abilities, but-"

"Just don't." said Arthas, raising one hand "That's a myth. A nonsense invented by fools. My father isn't and never has been prophetic. He's just good at reading people and takes necessary precautions. The idea that someone can see into the future is absolute-"

"Falric!" came a call, and a thin face man with short flaxen hair barged into the room, clad in armor. "Falric, Stormwinds been destroyed and King Llane is dead!" he noticed Arthas. "Oh, uh Prince Arthas. I…"

He paused as he saw the dry look which Falric gave the Prince. "Okay, what did I miss?" he said after a moment.

"Did you want to finish your thought, Arthas?" asked Falric with a raised eyebrow.

"…I think I need to talk to Lord Uther about this." said Arthas after a moment.

"Am I the only person excited about the fact that we're about to have a war with demonically infused monstrosities here!?" asked Marwynn in frustration.

"Yes!" was their reply.

…...

It was, Alleria Windrunner reflected, an extraordinarily silly thing to fight about. That did not stop them from doing it.

"I'm sorry Alleria." said Sylvanas as they looked over the recruits in practice "But I'm just a better shot than you. It doesn't make you any less of a ranger."

Alleria looked at her younger sister in irritation. Sylvanas had been acting… oddly carefree all things considered. After he almost breakdown within their home, Sylvanas had seemed to be filled with far more life than before.

And apparently one of the ways she had decided to express this was to claim that she was the better archer. Something which **was not** true.

"Don't talk down to your elders Sylvanas." she replied "I'm the one who taught you to shoot in the first place."

"Which means absolutely nothing." was her sisters reply. "I surpassed you long time ago."

"Well if your so confident, then perhaps you would like to face me in an Archery contest." said Alleria, her eyes narrowing.

"Fine."

"Great!" said Valeria Windrunner who had abruptly shown up behind them. "We can have a three person archery contest."

Sylvanas glanced at Valeria in irritation. "Two person."

"What?" said Valeria, her face falling into confusion. "But this way all three of us can-"

"No, you don't understand." said Sylvanas "If Valeria is involved in the contest, I'll have no part of it."

"Oh come on Sylvanas…" said Valeria "Your not still made at me are you?"

"Actually I am." said Sylvanas coldly "Now go away. No one likes you."

"Oh…" said Valeria with disappointed a sigh. "I'll just go practice by myself then." she moped off with Sylvanas looking after her with contempt.

"Presumptous fool." muttered Sylvanas "She dares to approach me after 'the incident'."

Alleria glanced at Sylvanas. "Sister, I know it was traumatic, but 'the incident' happened sixty years ago. Perhaps you should consider letting it go-"

"Never!" replied Sylvanas "Were my soul torn from my body, my spirit tormented and thrown into utter darkness and my soul hope of escape forgiving 'the incident' I would scream my defiance to the endless darkness for an eternity before I forgave that travesty upon our house."

"It was an accident." replied Alleria incredulously "There was no way she could have possibly know that by boiling Sunwell water would have that effect!"

Sylvanas remained silent for a long moment. "…Perhaps someday I may be able to forgive 'the incident'. But not today." she said solemnly, before glancing up at Alleria. "So are we going to do this or not."

"I suppose it can't hurt." said Alleria with a sigh.

"Excellent."

…...

**Authors Note:**

Okay, second Chapter is done. The toughest part of writing this one was the first part of it. Primarily because we know almost nothing of Gul'dan before he became Ner'zhul's apprentice. Writing Arthas in was pretty easy, though there were a few points where I got stuck, while I'll admit I had a lot of fun writing the scene with Sylvanas.

Now, about Gul'dan. Yes, I portrayed him in a sympathetic light. Yes, I did not write him as the monster he was in the games. And I have a good reason for it. The thing about Gul'dan is that we only really see him after he has already tap danced down the moral event horizon. We know almost nothing of what he was like as a child. I chose to write that segment the way I did after taking a good look at Gul'dans character.

Gul'dan always expressed a distaste for direct confrontation of any kind, and he clearly had almost no skill in melee, mostly relying on his enormous magical talent. And given the nature of Orcish society, even pre-demonic corruption, it would make perfect sense for him to be an outcast.

Most of all I wanted to avoid justifying his actions by just saying 'he's a sociopath.' Quite frankly I find it far more likely that Gul'dan was just so thoroughly screwed up by being a physically frail kid in a Warrior culture where people with his natural talents were spat on, that after a certain point the just decided on the every man for himself angle.

Combine that with few years training under Kil'jaden, a bit of demonic corruption and suddenly him being perfectly willing to kill off his own species for godhood makes perfect sense.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

-Lord22


	3. Resolve

**Chapter Three:**

_It was odd how quickly ones world could change, reflected Gul'dan as the eve of his sixteenth birthday dawned. Six years ago he had been a frail Orc child who none would have though twice about kicking to vent their frustrations. Now with Ner'zhul's tutelage in the manipulation of spirits combined with his own determination and thirst for knowledge, he now enjoyed what he had always been denied before he had been taken in._

_Respect. His fellow Shamans could not compare to him in control, or ability, and though he was still something of an outsider, no one dared make an issue of the fact._

_Some called him 'gifted', but he took that word as an insult. Gifts were by nature given freely, regardless of merit, and to call his skill a gift was to disregard all the work and thought he had had to put out to achieve his position as Ner'zhul's greatest student. He was skilled not gifted._

_Now Orgrim Doomhammer on the other hand…_

_There was a man who was gifted._

"_You there! Peon!" came the arrogant voice, and Gul'dan heard his footsteps approach. "Where is your master, Ner'zhul!" Peons were either those born of a lower class, or those children judged to weak to justify acknowledging as ones own._

_Gul'dan glanced up to look at the massive orc, Clad in black armor with an equally black hammer clutched in his hand, he was around Gul'dan's age, and clearly thought nothing of him purely by appearance. Gul'dan looked back down to where he was scratching runes in the dirt, pointedly ignoring him._

"_Did you not hear me peon!" came the outraged voice. "Or are you deaf as well as stupid!"_

"_I heard you the first time." admitted Gul'dan with a disinterested tone, while scratching a few marks in the dirt. "I merely find you irritating, and your manners disgraceful. Apologize, and perhaps I may consider answering your question. Otherwise find someone impressed by your meaningless bravado." He didn't need to hear the Orcs answer to know what he would say. The Warrior Caste of most clans were the rulers, with Shamans being mostly woman._

"_Do you have any idea who you are speaking too?!" the Orc snarled, and Gul'dan smirked in a way which he knew infuriated people._

"_Should I care?" was the question which Gul'dan asked in a pleasant tone._

"_I am the future leader of the Blackrock Clan! Orgrim Doomhammer!" snarled the Warrior in an outraged tone._

"_And I care not," stated Gul'dan dryly "Still I must congratulate you on answering my question so effectively without once acknowledging that I had spoken. Good day, Warrior." And then he turned his attention back to the dirt and continued scratching in the dirt._

"_You disrespectful little-"_

"_Good day, Warrior." he repeated._

"_RAAGH!" came the battle cry behind him, and Gul'dan raised one finger as Orgrim rushed him, hammer raised._

_And then Orgrim stopped, frozen in place, as the spell Gul'dan had cast took effect. The Shaman stood from the rock he had been sitting, his smile becoming a good deal more dangerous as he removed a knife from the folds of his robe._

"_Interesting isn't it, Orgrim." said Gul'dan, his voice cold. "All that combat training, and yet it didn't do you any good." He put his knife to Orgrim's throat, detecting a note of fear. "Listen to me, Orgrim Doomhammer, and understand this: your life is in my hands. With a flick of my wrist I could cut your throat, hide your body, and never once suffer the consequences for my actions." He moved his blade to be level with the Orcs eye. "I could blind you, and cut out your tongue," He moved his knife. "Or if I was feeling particularly sadistic I could just hamstring you, and leave you for the wolves. I could have killed you easily within moments. And no one could have stopped me from doing it." He pulled back his knife and sheathed it as he stepped out of range. "My point is, you have come within an inch of death, because you judged me solely by my appearance. So the next time you run into someone you don't know, try to show a little respect._

_With those words he turned away, pausing only to say one more thing. "Oh and Master Ner'zhul is currently holding a clan meeting. You may find him in a few hours." And then he walked away, snapping his fingers to release his holding spell as he did so._

_That was his first meeting with Orgrim Doomhammer, and it would set the tone for all the rest._

…_..._

_It was a little after an hour when Gul'dan had met Orgrim, when his master approached him at last._

"_You are aware who you made an enemy of today, Gul'dan." came the old voice, a hint of reproach within his voice, causing Gul'dan glanced back to see Chieftan Ner'zhul._

"_Someone who may or may not inherit the Blackrock clan, depending on whether or not he gets his skull bashed in by an Ogre before his father dies." replied Gul'dan without concern. "I care not for fools, nor their delusions of grandeur. Though I confess that I an curious as to what lies he told you, master?"_

"_None that I could detect from him." said Ner'zhul with a shrug "But then he told me nothing of what happened, I saw it from afar by my own means. Orgrim cannot risk admitting that he was humiliated in such a fashion."_

_Gul'dan chuckled, despite himself. "I love it when my enemies fall because of foolish pride. Tis something I intend to avoid."_

"_Then your wiser than most Chieftans." replied the Old Orc with a chuckle "But if I may ask, why your cutting that small furry animal to pieces."_

"_Oh, this?" asked Gul'dan, glancing back to the animal carcass he had been methodically dissecting. "I'm trying to figure out how bones work. Obviously I can't use Orcish dead, so I make due with animals. No one will miss these creatures, and there is much to be learned from how they."_

"_Perhaps," admitted Ner'zhul ruefully, and Gul'dan got the sense that his master was merely declining to state his distaste. "But you should be more careful with your words in the future, Gul'dan."_

"_I was forced to be careful with my words for the first half of my life." stated Gul'dan bluntly. "And in turn I was beaten, and spat upon. Now when I have strength to humble even the greatest of warriors, I will not tolerate their disrespect for my person."_

"_You have told me many times of your hate for the Warrior Caste." replied Ner'zhul, his voice serious "And in truth, much of what you say has merit. But there is nobility amongst them, and with a hand to channel them towards more productive ends they can be a force for good."_

"_I lack the experience to comment." admitted Gul'dan with a shrug of defeat. "But I understand what you are saying, and shall keep it in mind."_

"_Good," said Ner'zhul, moving forward to sit next to his pupil. "Because I wish to discuss something with you. I have not mentioned it to you before now because I wanted you to focus on developing your magical abilities, but I believe that the time have come to speak to you-"_

"_About your plans for a new order." finished Gul'dan for him in complete deadpan._

_Ner'zhul blinked in surprise "Well yes. How did you know of them?"_

"_Do not concern yourself with that, Master." said Gul'dan with a shrug. "There is no leak. I merely guessed at your intentions some time ago. You've always shown a good deal of frustration with the disorganized nature of the Orcish clans, and you've been hinting at this for months."_

"_Yes," said Ner'zhul, his voice grave "For centuries the Clans have been entirely independent of one another. When I first came to power the Orcs were killing more of each other than our supposed nemesis in the Ogres. I spent years working to ensure that the tribes seek other methods to solve their differences, and I have done much to that end." he sighed "If only things could end there. I fear that when I die war will engulf our people once more. Our lands will fall into utter chaos, and all I have worked for will be for naught."_

"_So you wish to unite the Clans under one banner?" asked Gul'dan with a wry smile. "Destroy them as separate entities."_

"_Of course not." said Ner'zhul firmly "That would never work. Each Clan has it's own differences and traditions that they will never sacrifice for the sake of unity alone. What I seek to forge is not one great clan, but rather a common banner. Individual Clans will still exist, but they shall serve the greater good of our people first. If all goes well, within a few generations our people will no longer seek each others blood. I would have you at my side for this, Gul'dan. None of the other Shamans know my mind as you do. Will you aid me? "_

"_Not much of a decision, is it?" asked Gul'dan with a chuckle. "What am I going to say? No? You've given me everything, Master. I won't back out on you, especially not if you intend to bring the Warrior caste to heel."_

_Ner'zhul smirked slightly. "I suppose the question __**was **__a bit irrelevant wasn't it?" His face grew more serious. "In either case there is one primary thing we will need for the creation of this new order."_

"_Oh?" said the apprentice with a raised eyebrow. "And what would that be?"_

"_A common enemy, for the Orcs to unite against." was the answer and their path was set._

…...

The Light dimmed from where it had been shining in Arthas' eyes, until Uther became visible once more in the chapel. The big man was smirking with wry amusement. "As far as I can tell you are a perfectly healthy nine year old boy." he stated in his baritone "So no, you will not be able to avoid your fathers summons like you seem to want to."

"I'm not trying to avoid anything!" said Arthas, frustrated by the casualness with which he was being taken. "I woke up this morning knowing things that I shouldn't and noticing things which I never had before! And yet before I ran into Falric I had gotten lost in my own home! I've been living here for my entire life, and I…" he stopped "I just…" he sighed, before he gave up on anyone taking him seriously. "Falric, back me up here, will you."

Uther's grey eyed gaze turned to Falric regard him seriously. "Do you know anything about this, Soldier." he asked seriously.

"There isn't really much to tell." admitted Falric, standing up straight. "His highness approached me, seeming confused." he paused "It was eerie. He spoke of Stormwind burning before anyone else had heard of it. Ordinarily I might have thought he'd heard something early, but he did so he seemed… different. I am no spell weaver, milord, but I would consider the possibility of magic being at work."

"Hmmhmm." grunted Uther noncommittally as he pinched his stumbled chin with one hand. "Alright then, I will bring the matter up with the King, and see if I can arrange for a mage just in case. In the meantime, I will escort Prince Arthas to his father." He stood. "Footman Falric, thank you for your aid. Return to your post."

Falric bowed, and moved away. Then Uther glanced over at Arthas. "I sincerely hope that you are not playing some childish prank here, Arthas. If so, it would be in terrible taste to do so."

A cold fury went over Arthas, and he stood from his chair and glared up at his teacher with narrowed eyes. "Are you accusing me of something, Lord Uther?!" he snarled in a voice that he scarcely recognized, and Uther's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

And then the moment passed, and Arthas' was replaced by a headache. He clutched his brown painfully, as something akin to guilt filled him. "I am… sorry Uther." he said "I don't know what came over me." He glanced up just in time to see his mentors expression change from shock to concern.

"…Do not concern yourself, lad." Uther said after a moment, and his voice held a note of regret which Arthas knew to be genuine. "I should not have suspected you of having such poor taste." he motioned for the door. "For now I will escort you to the royal apartments. I fear that your father is likely in the midst of a meeting, given recent events, so I shall tell you what I know."

Uther led Arthas through the halls, at several points glancing in concern at him, and Arthas felt a certain gladness at the fact, though mentally he knew this was nothing out of the ordinary.

The Knight told him that the Knight Champion of Stormwind, Anduin Lothar had arrived in Lordaeron City with two mages, demanding an audience with the King immediately. Apparently the Orcs, who had spilled forth from places unknown and attacked Stormwind directly some fifteen years ago had broken through their defenses and assaulted Stormwind while Anduin Lothar had been away on another assault.

"They were overexposed." said Uther ruefully. "Lothar assaulted and destroyed the primary fortress of the Shadow Council, and dealt the Orcs a Major blow. If the plan had been initiated two months earlier they might well have gained victory. But whatever the reason for it's failure, all we can do now is prepare for what is to come."

"Isn't that all we can ever do?" asked Arthas pointedly.

"Good point." Uther conceded as they reached a door which seemed vaguely familiar. "In here."

"Thank you Uther." said Arthas, bowing his head in respect.

"Any time lad." said Uther, opening the door for Arthas as he walked in, and closing it behind him. Within the room was his father's study. There was a heavy oaken desk in the middle of the room, and Arthas remembered that his father had always kept two loaded crossbows under his desk during that time.

His father was sitting behind it, his cut short straw colored hair combed neatly back as he read over a rather extensive list, brushing his short beard absently. For some reason Arthas thought that he should be frailer, but pushed the thought away as King Terenas glanced up.

"Ah, son." he said "Please sit down."

"I'm sorry that I was late, father." said Arthas as he complied, taking a seat in one of the chairs before the desk. "I… got lost."

"Don't concern yourself with that son." stated Terenas, his expression grim. "I've had a thousand things to deal with today, and all of them are annoying. Present company excluded, of course."

"Uther filled me in." Admitted Arthas.

"Uther doesn't know everything." stated Terenas simply. "Which is why I called you here. Don't go telling anyone about anything I tell you in this room."

"Of course not!" said Arthas "I would never reveal secrets without your express permission."

Terenas glanced at him, surprised by his quick answer before shrugging grimly. "The entire royal family of Stormwind has been wiped out." He said at last, and for some reason he could not comprehend Arthas felt a pang of frozen grief in him.

"D-does that include Prince Varian?" asked Arthas, though he himself did not understand why he felt dread as he asked the question.

"Yes." stated King Terenas grimly. "Our sources in Stormwind led us to believe that the Orcs were collection of mindless, violent brutes. But at least a few of their number figured out that wiping out a royal family is an excellent method of damaging a relative. Even if we beat them at this point, whoever ends up ruling a restored Stormwind won't be anyone we know well. He's be someone's second cousin, who was never meant to take the throne. And that's assuming that there even **is **anyone of that sort left. At least half the population was wiped out." He sighed. "Needless to say, I will not be allowing a repeat of that situation here. As such I will be arranging for greater security. You will no longer be able to go unescorted."

"As you wish father." said Arthas, and King Terenas blinked in surprise.

"I was expecting a bit more resistance from you in this matter." admitted the King, and Arthas raised an eyebrow. "I know that you tended to visit the Balnir farmstead…"

"I did?" asked Arthas, raising an eyebrow, before remembered the place. "Oh yes of course. Well let's face it, such a connection wouldn't have lasted. Nothing does, so it is probably better to break it now."

"…I suppose." said the King, a note of concern in his voice. "Either way I want you to start learning to fight. Your reaching the age where most Knights begin their training, and given the situation it is probably best if you start soon."

"Very well. That sounds reasonable." said Arthas, and he was bemused by his father's expression. "Alright what it is it?"

"Arthas, I am well aware that my duties ensure that I cannot spend as much time with you as I would like." said King Terenas "But I think I know my own son well enough to know when he is acting out of sorts. For the past few years you've been begging me to let someone teach you swordplay, and I will admit that I have refused you until now because I wanted you to be a statesman, rather than a warrior. My own brothers were all killed during their tours of duty in the wars with Gilneas, and you are my only son."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" asked Arthas, his voice annoyed.

"No, but I can't help but wonder if you are alright." stated the King.

"Well I don't feel entirely normal." admitted Arthas ruefully "I woke up feeling different, but according to the light I'm perfectly healthy."

"So be it." said the King though Arthas knew from his glance that the conversation would come up again later.

…...

…...

Three arrows hit the 'forhead' of the human sized targets within the course of three seconds, their shafts quivering in place for a few moments after each one burying itself in the canvass.

"Got it!" Sylvanas lowered her bow from where she stood, her green cape blowing slightly in the wind and her long blonde hair falling loosely around her slim shoulders. She was currently clad in a two piece ranger outfit which clung to her ample chest, baring her midriff and her long legs.

She glanced over to Alleria, who wore a similar outfit, albeit one in blue, with a victorious smirk. "I told you I could do it." she stated smugly. "Tell me, dear sister, how has your own target practice gone?"

Alleria have her an annoyed glared as she heard the sarcastic question. "…I'm the one who taught you how to shoot in the first place Sylvanas."

"Answer the question, sister." Sylvanas said smugly.

"Fine!" said Alleria in frustration "I only got two head shots, now lay off."

"Oh I'll lay off, just as soon as you pay me the agreed upon sum." replied Sylvanas with a smile, prompting Alleria to grumble, and toss a bag with thirty gold to her which she caught.

"Sisters!" came a sudden voice which Sylvanas had not heard in years. She turned to see a young High Elf boy running towards her and Alleria, and barley kept herself from shaking.

"L-Lirath," she said, her voice unsteady.

"What is it, Sister?" asked Lirath slowing to a halt "You look to have seen a ghost."

And just like that, Sylvanas' good mood was shattered. Lirath Windrunner, her younger brother, who had died far too young. Lirath, who during the second war had been cut down as the trolls and Orcs had swarmed through the forests of Quel'thalas in a vicious blitzkrieg which had slaughtered so many of her people.

She had been so enthusiastic to have seen her one sister, who had remained fresh in her memory from years of time together that she had not really thought about the future.

Lirath was alive, the city of Silvermoon remained strong. The Sunwell still existed. The trees of Quel'thalas remained green.

But how long would that be? Lirath had looked as he did now when she had first seen him. If she did nothing then all that she had regained would be lost once more.

"…Sister Sylvanas? Are you alright?" asked Lirath.

"Yes…" she said, kneeling down and embracing him suddenly, holding him tightly.

"Uh… Sister," said Lirath awkwardly. "Your embarrassing me."

"And I will continue to do so, if you do not give us a minute, I need to speak to Alleria about something important." she whispered softly into his ear, before breaking the embrace.

"Alright then…" said Lirath, shifting nervously for a moment, before moving away quickly.

"…I must confess Sylvanas." said Alleria after a moment. "That was a novel way of getting an annoying younger brother to go away."

"You might find him less annoying if he were to be cut down by forest rolls." said Sylvanas grimly as she stood.

"That is a rather morbid thought." said Alleria, concern evident in her tone. "Sister, what is going on here? First you think me some kind of shape shifting imposter, and cry curses out to an unknown enemy. Then you weep uncontrollably, before seeming more cheerful than ever before. About the only thing that has been consistent in your manner is your refusal to acknowledge Valeria. There is something bothering you, isn't there?"

"I…" Sylvanas looked down. "Yes. But if I were to tell you everything you would hardly believe it."

Alleria gave her a dry look. "I have seen a lot of strange things in my life, Sylvanas. I think I can handle hearing about this."

"I suppose we will find out then." said Sylvanas, and her voice became cold "You want to know why I have been acting strangely. I'll start at the beginning…"

…**...**

**End Chapter Three**

…**...**

**Authors Note:**

Well, here is Chapter 3.

Firstly, Lirath **isn't** an OC. He is a canon character who was murdered in the massacres perpetuated by the Horde during the assault on Quel'thalas, and his death was a very important part of Alleria's character arc. Don't worry, he's not going to feature heavily. Elves grow up too slowly for him to be important here.

And yes, I killed off Varian Wrynn. I had originally planned for him to be in the story, but I honestly couldn't think of anything to do with him. Since there is at least one time traveller with a vested interest in the Orcs invasion of Azeroth, I figure it isn't unreasonable to assume that they would have wiped out the Wrynn line in order to make things easier.


End file.
